Swords Against the Shadowland (Fritz Leiber's Lankhmar)

by Robin Wayne Bailey

  Then, slowly he set it down again.

  A strange feeling of calm settled over him. He turned back to the steps that led through the trap door to the roof, climbed them. The door, so old and rarely used, hung warped and swollen upon its horizontal jamb. He had neglected to close it carefully. Wisps of vapor floated at its edges where one corner gapped. It mattered nothing to him. Pushing the door back, he ascended and stepped out into the white night.

  The fog reduced Lankhmar's skyline to a few ghostly silhouettes. In the thick mist that drifted through the air, the distorted shapes of towers and minarets seemed to waver. The nearest rooftops appeared and disappeared as the thinnest of breezes stirred the currents.

  Staring northward from the parapet, Malygris felt a rush of joy. He whispered a name. "Laurian."

  The fog quivered as if in response, white as Laurian's skin, soft as the body of the woman Malygris loved. He closed his eyes as he thought of her. Was it her perfume he smelled riding on the vapor? Her cool touch that brushed, delicate as a feather, over his face and throat?

  His eyes snapped open, and he chided himself. Why was he hiding? Sadaster was dead, and—however inadvertently—most of Lankhmar s mages with him. What mattered if his greatest working had somehow gone awry? He was still Malygris, and the city feared him.

  "Laurian," he whispered again as he gazed longingly in the direction of her house. He licked his lips. Her name in his mouth tasted sweet as honey. His heartbeat quickened with a building desire.

  He had allowed her time—a proper period to mourn and to forget her husband. A year this very night since the Great Casting of his spell, and six months since Sadaster's funeral. The time for mourning was over.

  He clutched his fists, shivering inside even as his skin seemed to burn, and his mind churned with thoughts of love. Out of courtesy, he had denied himself long enough. No longer would he wait to claim his heart's desire.

  Forgetting all else, he climbed the parapet and plunged head-first over the side. But he did not fall. Spider-like, he crawled down the side of the ancient tower, defying nature. Even the mist seemed to recoil in revulsion from the scuttling shape he made on the crumbling black stone. Once he paused, and his head jerked back and forth as he surveyed the empty, fog-bound streets. When he reached the ground, he laughed softly.

  The fence that surrounded the tower offered no greater challenge. Climbing it, he strode up Nun Street and into the heart of the River District. Even in the fog, he knew the way to her estate. In his mind, in his heart, in his dreams he had made this trip a thousand times, a groom going to claim his bride.

  On the street-side of a white wall, he stopped. Again, his gaze swept cautiously up and down the misty avenue. No sign of life, not even a sound. The fog smothered everything. He might have been walking through a dead city.

  A leer that resembled a snarl curled his lips. Considering the power and effect of his Great Casting, the analogy was apt.

  Employing his peculiar talent, he climbed the wall and scuttled down the other side to stand within Sadaster’s estate.

  Through one window only, a light shone. That lonely amber beam spilled down through the limbs of dead lemon and orange trees, through the twisted and brittle branches of lifeless rose bushes, to weave upon the ground a shadowy webwork that spread throughout the ruined garden.

  Malygris drew himself erect. Boldly, he strode forward, crushing old mint and juniper under his tread, scattering old leaves, brushing aside the limbs. A sense of triumph filled him. Reaching the house, he looked up again at that window, whose shutters were thrown wide in invitation. In a matter of moments he crouched upon the sill.

  His heart soared! In the center of the room in which he found himself, stood all his dreams and hopes fulfilled. Breath caught in his throat, and his heart hammered.

  The lamplight played with dazzling effect upon the diamonds in the folds of white that draped his bride. Veiled, Laurian turned toward him and lifted her arms.

  "I've been waiting for you," she said, silken-voiced. "Come, and receive my Wedding Vow."

  Malygris sprang forward, passion burning in his blood, desire expelling all reason. Laurian's arms went around him, and he caught the edge of her veil, seeking the taste of her lips.

  "Receive now, my Wedding Vow," she said as he drew the concealing cloth from her face.

  Malygris gasped as she turned her eyes upward. Horror surged through him—he saw his own handiwork in those blind, blood-specked orbs. He tried to recoil, but her arms tightened about him. A sharp pain lanced into his back. Screaming, he pushed her away. "What. . . ?"

  "My dagger," Laurian hissed, brandishing the bloodied blade. Droplets of red splattered upon her shimmering dress. "I named it for the occasion." She threw herself at him, catching his garments with a determined grip. With all her force she drove the blade upward. "Now receive it again!"

  In Sameel's bed, Fafhrd rose suddenly up on his elbows, pleasure forgotten, as a shrill scream reverberated in the corridors. Before he could react, a second and higher-pitched shriek followed.

  Sameel's eyes widened with fear. "Mistress!" she cried.

  Instantly, Fafhrd threw back the sheets and sprang to the floor. Grabbing his sword with one hand and his breeches in the other, he flung open the door and raced for the library on the upper story.

  Launching himself up the marble stairs, taking them two and three at a time, he tripped on the topmost step, fell heavily, and rolled to his feet again, leaving his garment behind. Down the hall he ran with Laurian's scream still echoing in his ears, straight for the library.

  Fafhrd smashed through the ornate doors and whipped Sadaster's sword from its sheath.

  A ragged, shriveled figure bent over Laurian's half-prone form, fingers locked and squeezing her throat as he cursed her with incoherent snarls. Blood spattered Laurian's white dress. Even as she gurgled for desperate breath, she beat one fist at her attacker's face and groped with the other hand for a dagger just inches beyond her reach.

  Thin tendrils of fog, reaching in through the window, curled about the invader's waist, one arm, an ankle. Another snaked about his neck. Quivering and weak, they tried to drag the man off Laurian, but he resisted with a hideous strength, tightening his deadly grip.

  Fafhrd screamed his challenge as he leaped to Laurian's rescue. "Malygris!"

  The wizard's head snapped up. An animal-like growl issued from a thin mouth. Dark eyes gleamed with a horrible power. Shrugging off the gray tendrils that sought to hold him, he rose to meet Fafhrd. "Another man in your house already?" he raged at Laurian. "Unfaithful whore!"

  As Fafhrd charged across the carpet, his senses unexpectedly whirled. The embroidery beneath his feet moved strangely, and the pattern shifted. Impossibly, the stylized vines and creepers woven into the rug assumed three-dimensions and rose up to thwart his attack.

  Like some monstrously camouflaged man-eating plant, the carpet came to life. With a startled cry, Fafhrd swung the huge sword, slashing left and right. For every vine he cut, two more lashed at him. Serpent-like, they struck at his face, at his eyes, constricted his chest, tried to crush the breath from him. Coils ensnared his legs and sought to topple him.

  Heart pounding with fear and fury, he caught a slender shoot as it looped about his neck. With all his might, he ripped it away. A sticky ichor filled his palm, ran down his arm. It burned his skin!

  Malygris laughed harshly, his visage a frightening mask of anger, hatred, and pain. Turning his bloody back to Fafhrd, he bent over Laurian once more. Weakly, she dragged herself the few inches across the floor and reached for the dagger. Malygris pushed it away with a slippered toe. Then he began to throttle her once more, slowly and with relish.

  "Leave her alone!" Fafhrd shouted, winning a few steps' progress into the room through the murderous jungle that assailed him. Vines whipped up immediately to encase his thighs, his waist. "Damn you to hell!"

  Malygris showed no concern. "I am in hell already," he answered with grim sav
agery. "Without love, without hope, without Laurian."

  The snap of bones filled the room. Laurian's eyes opened wide, then a sigh escaped her parted lips, and her feeble resistance ended.

  "No!" Sameel streaked into the library. "I'll kill you! I'll kill you!" she cried hysterically. The vines and creepers that filled the air seemed oblivious to her presence. Before Malygris could react, she tackled the wizard, knocking him to the floor.

  In her hands, she held Fafhrd's bunched breeches. Riding Malygris's back, she wrapped the leggings around his head, blinding him, choking him. At the same time, she struggled to reach Laurian's dagger.

  Ensorceled vines and branches recoiled back into the carpet. Fafhrd grunted in surprise, suddenly freed, but wasted no time questioning the how or why. Raising his sword, he lunged forward. Now, with a stroke, he would avenge Laurian and Sadaster, and claim the drop of heart's blood that would end this madness.

  Sheelba had sent him on an errand of cold-blooded murder, but leaping past Laurian's body, his blood ran very hot, indeed.

  Before he could strike, however, Malygris rose. With little more than a shrug, he flung Sameel backward directly into Fafhrd's path. Whirling about, he clawed the breeches from his head.

  Dark fire flared in the pits of his eyes. Again, the carpet's pattern came to life.

  "Don't look at his eyes!" Sameel cried, throwing herself at the wizard again.

  Malygris batted her aside with the back of his hand, sending her crashing into the silver sarcophagus. As she sagged to the floor, he glared at Laurian's body and backed warily toward the open window.

  Fafhrd fought the vines again as they sought to entangle him. But Sameel's outcry rang in his ears, and suddenly he understood. "Illusions!" he cursed. "Here's a trick for you, monster!"

  He flung the sword with all his strength, straight for Malygris. But the wizard dived headfirst through the window. The blade flashed through the space where only an instant before he had stood. The point bit deep into the woodwork, quivering. For a moment it protruded there, then fell to the carpet.

  Malygris's mad spell dissolved again. Fafhrd snatched up his sword and leaned out the window. Halfway down the wall, clinging to the side of the house like an insect, Malygris looked up and snarled.

  "Naked fool! I am not done with you!"

  Fafhrd hawked and spat. The wad of saliva splashed on Malygris's bald head. Without a word, he catapulted over the sill and landed in a crouch on the ground direcdy below the wizard.

  "Then come down and have done with me!" he called angrily, all fear gone now. Only the desire for vengeance boiled in his heart.

  But Malygris refused to descend. With his strange talent, he crawled sideways upon the house, seeking escape around the corner. Fafhrd ran after him, leaping high and swinging his sword. Malygris climbed toward the roof out of range.

  Drops of blood splattered the dead grass below him. Fafhrd noted the spoor with a grim nod. Laurian had struck a blow, at least. Fafhrd determined to make his own mark.

  Keeping one eye on the wizard's position, he shot a look around the garden. A ring of dirty white stones made a border around a withered rose bush. Driving the point of his sword into the earth, Fafhrd tore up two rocks the size of his fists.

  "Hey, spider-face!" he called. Malygris paused at the very roof edge and foolishly looked back.

  The first stone impacted the side of the house, cracking the stucco and causing a shower of plaster. The second struck Malygris's elbow.

  The wizard howled in pain, an inhuman sound that chilled Fafhrd's blood, yet pleased him bitterly. He bent to snatch up another stone, but when he drew back to throw it, Malygris had achieved the roof. His shadowy form melted into the dark-tiled background.

  Grabbing his sword, Fafhrd ran with his rock through the garden to the opposite side of the house, ready to continue the battle. Squinting, breathing furiously, he scrutinized the gutters, the roof summit, the walls, the grounds. Then he ran back to the other side again.

  With a curse, he swung his blade in a powerful arc and carved a deep gash in the sod. Tasting failure, he remembered Laurian and Sameel. He would have another chance at Malygris—both he and the wizard had sworn it.

  Flinging open the garden doors, he made his way through a darkened foyer and found the stairs to the upper floor. The library doors hung crookedly on their hinges. He rushed inside.

  Sameel cradled Laurian in her arms on the carpet. She turned a tear-streaked face toward him. "Malygris?" she asked hopefully.

  "Gone," he answered. "Laurian?"

  Sameel brushed hair from her mistress's face. "She's with Sa-daster now."

  Fafhrd picked up the scabbard he had cast aside and sheathed Sadaster's sword. A new anger welled up within him as he clenched his fist around the hilt. "Why?" he raged. "Why did she challenge him alone? We should have planned it together, chosen the time ..."

  Sameel smiled wanly. "You didn't know Laurian."

  / know she's dead, Fafhrd nearly snapped. Instead, he bit his tongue and shook his head. "She should have let us help."

  Sameel leaned her head forward until it touched Laurian's brow. "I helped," she whispered. "Didn't I, mistress?"

  "What?" Crouching down beside her, Fafhrd lifted her chin, forced her to look at him.

  She gave a weak laugh that sent a new chill through Fafhrd. "She asked me for a favor," she said, turning her face away. "Something important, something that would insure Malygris's coming."

  Fafhrd knelt closer, confused as well as angry, but suddenly frightened again as he peered at Sameel and perceived in her a new, desperate quality. It seemed as if her mind were unhinging. He started to speak again, but she put up a hand to stop his lips.

  A moment of lucidity settled upon her face, and in her eyes he saw a sadness so deep it set his soul to aching. "Don't ask," she said, her words feather-soft, her breath herb-sweet. "The answer might hurt too much. And I will never tell."

  Her eyes fluttered, and her head sank down upon Laurian's head again.

  "Sameel?" he said.

  She didn't answer.

  A dark stain spread slowly across the carpet beneath Laurian's body. Fafhrd stared, puzzled. Too much blood for Malygris's wounds, and Laurian hadn't been stabbed. He noted how gingerly Sameel supported her mistress's limp form in her left; arm. His eyes spied Laurian's dagger so close at hand.

  With a despairing cry, he caught the hidden arm and tugged it free. "What have you done?"

  Blood swelled freely from the vein she had opened lengthwise and properly. It ran over her palm, through her fingers, dripped into Laurian's dark hair, into Laurian's shut eyes.

  Sameel pulled her arm away and hugged it to her bare breast. "All the kindness, all the joy I have known in this world flowed from my mistress and my master," she said. An eerie happiness filled her voice. "They will need me in the Shadowland."

  A hollow silence settled through the room. Fafhrd's eyes burned, and his heart threatened to burst. Kneeling, clutching his sword as if it were a holy relic, he banged his head again and again on the pommelstone.

  Looking up, Sameel touched his knee. A dull light, swiftly fading, lingered in her eyes as she sought his gaze. "I didn't mean that—not all the joy," she whispered. She spoke his name once, then leaned down to wrap her mistress in a final embrace.

  All through their night together, she had called him only, my lord.

  Fafhrd raised his fists and screamed in rage and pain. For a long time he remained beside them, awash in memories, paralyzed by old and new regrets. Then, carrying both women, he placed Laurian on her velvet chair and arranged Sameel on her mistress's lap.

  Closing the two halves of the silver sarcophagus around them, Fafhrd sat down and leaned his head against it.

  After a time, he got to his feet, collected his breeches and other garments from Sameel's room, and dressed. While Malygris breathed, he would save his grief, and hoard his anger like a treasure of incalculable worth.

  Meanwhile, ther
e was the Mouser to find.

  Carefully he closed the gates of the estate and stepped into the street outside. A soft breeze blew through the avenue, sweeping away a misty fog. Hugging himself beneath his cloak, he turned southward.

  But before he went far, a harsh mirth echoed down the night, freezing him in mid-step. Even with its bitter edge, he knew that peeling laugh. "Vlana?" he said, casting a searching gaze about.

  In the dark mouth of an alley, he thought he glimpsed a pale shape, a hint of flashing eyes, a wisp of hair floating about a familiar face. But when he rushed to the spot, no one was there.

  FIFTEEN

  A FEAST OF FEAR

  The Mouser peered cautiously around the corner of an old warehouse on Hardstone Street into an alley filled with night's gloom. Adjusting the heavy sack he carried over one shoulder, he cast a glance toward the ponderous silhouette of the city's eastern wall in whose shadow he stood.

  An aura of moonlight shimmered above the wall, though the moon had not yet risen above it. Wetting his lips, he slipped into the alley’s deeper blackness.

  Halfway into the alley, invisible from the road, Nuulpha sat on a low wooden crate, bent forward, elbows on his knees, lost in thought. Moving soundlessly on soft-booted feet, the Mouser reached out and tapped the corporal on the top of his helmet.

  Startled, Nuulpha gasped and fell sideways into the dirt, one hand groping for his sword's hilt. Only the Mouser's toe, placed carefully upon the edge of the crate, kept that from toppling and making an unwanted racket.

  "By the Rat God!" Nuulpha whispered anxiously, finally recognizing his friend. "I didn't hear you." With some embarrassment, he rose and brushed himself off.

  "What are you doing here?" the Mouser asked in a low voice.

  "Waiting for you," Nuulpha answered. "Demptha said you'd left on some errand." He eyed the Mouser's burden. "What's in the bag?"